A Series of Educational Experiences
by The Croc Shop
Summary: Spock finds humanity's obsession with sex and its particulars to be nothing short of thoroughly perplexing.
1. A Series of Educational Experiences

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Star Trek: AOS._ This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

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**A Series of Educational Experiences**

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Prior to his transfer from Vulcan to Earth, Spock accesses the archives in an attempt to familiarize himself with the pecularities of Terran culture. He considers his research adequate.

His studies are insufficient to prepare him for the reality. Though he is aware of the licentious behavior deemed culturally acceptable and publically permissable by a substantial majority of humans, the degree to which it saturates their culture and daily life is both unanticipated and alarming. It is an obsession; it is a compulsion; it is unfathomable.

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In his second year at the Academy he is unsettled to learn of the romantic and sexual relationship a fellow cadet has struck up with one of their instructors. It is not unheard of on Vulcan for a young student to foster a temporary attachment of an intellectual nature to a specific instructor; as a child Spock himself maintained an intellectual interest in the instructor who oversaw his preliminary education in physics. Reciprocation, however, would be unthinkable, the consequences immediate and appropriately severe.

At the Academy such relationships are not encouraged, but they are accepted so long as the relationship does not negatively impact the performance of either the student or the instructor. He finds this disquieting.

*

His first sexual encounter occurs during his third year. The experience is mutually dissatisfactory.

Cadet Thomson appears emotionally unaffected. She retrieves her bra from the floor and refits it to her breasts. "You win some, you lose some," she says.

He expresses doubts as to the aphorism's relevance to the situation. The sentiment does not seem applicable.

Cadet Thomson laughs and shakes her head. Her hair sways red and gleaming across her bare shoulders. "One day you're going to make some nerd _re_-ally happy," she says. She kisses his cheek. Her lips are dry and slightly chapped, but they are also ample and soft. He believes the word "generous" would be an apt descriptor.

Cadet Thomson leaves.

*

His research is lacking.

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There is a book lender located south of the Academy. He is capable of walking the distance at an average length of twenty-four minutes and sixteen seconds. The environment is ideal for the storage of paper documents: the climate control a temperature of precisely eighteen-point-eight-nine degrees Celsius and a humidity of thirty-five percent. For this reason he prefers it to the book lender located to the east.

Printed and bound books are inconvenient in comparison to electronic novels: they require more space for storage, induce eye strain, and are prone to decay and other environmental damage. They are by the limitations of the materials of their construction impermanent; by their impermanence, they are wasteful.

Since his transfer to Earth he has found he is increasingly capable of illogical decisions.

Spock makes his selections utilizing a rudimentary familiarity with the subject and a passing remembrance of Cadet Thomson's collection of reprinted twentieth century literature. He believes five will be sufficient for today.

The woman manning the check-out desk expresses amusement as she tallies his selections in her database. "It's just I don't see many guys reading romances," she explains. "I keep trying and trying to get my boyfriend to see the light, I mean, geez, he reads those fantasy novels all the time, it's not like one's inherently superior to the other or whatever."

He is not interested in a conversation on the comparative literary merits of the genres. He excuses himself.

*

Spock completes the fifth book on the fourth day. He is unsettled but not surprised to learn human literature is as obsessed with emotional excesses as indeed any other form of popular human media. However, there are several passages he believes may prove illuminating; these he marks for future reference. He returns to the book lender when the opportunity presents itself in the following month.

The question of how and where to store his research materials does not arise until the conclusion of his final year as a student. By this time he considers his education in the subject to be enough for a sufficient understanding; it is no loss when he returns the materials.

*

He remains unaware of Nyota Uhura as an individual distinct from her peers for the duration of the first month of the class. He is strict, but fair; he favors no student above another. Her paper on the evolution of tonality in the Bruns-Dhul dialect is impressive, but flawed. Though her research is adequate and her grasp on the depth of her selected subject exceeds expectations in a multitude of ways, her thesis is inherently insupportable. Spock prepares a brief list of errors present in her thesis and attaches it to the front of her paper. He returns it on Monday.

On Wednesday she is waiting for him inside his office.

He seats himself behind the desk and flips open the folder of papers he has yet to grade. He says, "Would I be correct in assuming you wish to debate the validity of your grade?" She would not be the first; he does not expect her to be the last.

"No," she says.

Spock looks up.

Cadet Uhura sits with her hands level on her lap, one on top of the other, a paper pinned beneath them. Her facial expression and the lack of tension present in the position of her shoulders suggest she is not emotionally unbalanced. She smiles. The skin at the outside corners of her eyes folds as she does so. Her smile is indecipherable.

She lifts the paper. "I wanted to drop this off, but your aide told me to wait inside for you," she says, setting it face-down on his desk. She stands and hefts her bag over her shoulder and says, dryly, "Thank you for your time, professor." She leaves.

He flips the paper over and reads it once, then again. It is a detailed refutation of just one of the points he had made against her thesis, a refutation which acknowledges the validity of his overall judgment of the paper, but challenges the basis for his argument against her interpretation of religious influences on the development of the Bruns-Dhul dialect. Her research is extensive, her argument compelling. He reads it a third time, then composes a response: his position on the matter remains unchanged.

He arrives at his office on Monday. Cadet Uhura is waiting for him. Her jaw is set. Her chin is held high.

He says, "I presume you are here to continue our debate."

She says, "You presume correctly."

"You may proceed," he says. He is aware, clinically, that he is looking forward to her counter-argument.

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She is an exceptional student.

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His first error is in assuming that he has acquired enough information to accurately assess the development of this relationship. His second error is in assuming that his control is absolute. His third error comes when he finds himself watching her during class. Her throat is long, her fingers graceful. She folds one leg over the other and as she writes she swings it in a slow and even rhythm, once forward. Once back.

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He is learning, still.

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This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/13/2009.


	2. Creative Applications

Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Star Trek: AOS._ This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

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Creative Applications

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Only when he transferred his possessions to Nyota's quarters did he learn he had not, as believed, returned all of the novels.

"Spock," Nyota said.

Occupied as he was with the task of reassembling one of the more delicate pieces of diagnostic equipment, he did not immediately respond; the components were fragile and needed to be fitted together with exacting precision.

"_Spock_," she said. Her voice trembled.

He looked up.

"What," Nyota said, holding her hand up, thumb pressed tight against the cover, "is this?"

He tipped his eyebrow slightly. "I believe it is a book," he said.

"Oh, it _is_. But not just any book," Nyota said, the corners of her mouth curling up, up, irrepressibly up. She flipped the book over and read in slow and triumphant tones: "_The Pirate King's Virgin Bride_. 'Stolen from her wedding by a king of the sea, will Mary find her heart stolen as well?'" She savored the last few words, lingering over them.

"Ah," said Spock.

Nyota turned to the box that rested on the floor beside her and feigned surprise, holding her fingertips to her chin. "And what's this!" she said. "Why, it's..." She plunged her hand into the box and removed another book with an artistic and distinctly unnecessary flourish. "_Days of Pleasure, Nights of Passion_! Volume five," she clarified. "I can't seem to find volumes one through four, though." The grin she directed at him was wicked. "Mr Spock," she said, "I had no idea your literary tastes were so inclined."

"They are research materials," he said, but Nyota expressed no inclination to acknowledge his response, whatever it may have been.

"It's _smut_," she said, with unappealing delight. "You have a box of smut! _You_," she said, clutching her hands and the two paperbacks to her chest as she gazed at him with something approaching longing, "have a box of _smut_."

"To describe these works as 'smut' is to inaccurately and unfairly denigrate a valid literary genre," he said, "one which explores at exacting if excessively emotional detail the intricacies of human courtship in a fashion easily digested by--"

"'Hernando lathed her nipples with his tongue, dragging a low moan from her throat with each slow stroke of his tongue,'" Nyota read, pinning _The Pirate King's Virgin Bride_ open with her thumb. "'Mary threw her head back, gasping, begging, pleading for more.'"

"Your sampling is biased," Spock said stiffly. "If you were to begin the book at the appropriate place, I believe you would find it an evocative and occasionally understated examination of the traditional roles of women and men in nineteenth century European society."

Nyota did not immediately reply: she had fallen silent, skimming the pages. As she read, her eyes widened; the curve of her mouth slackened. She said, "Wait, did you--" She snapped her head up and stared at him. "That thing you did!" she said. "You stole that! From this book!" She shook the book at him.

"It appeared effective within the text," he explained patiently. "To pursue a real world application of the technique seemed a logical decision."

"You _plagiarist_," she said.

"You are utilizing an incorrect definition of the word," he told her. "Regardless, the sentiment is invalid: I did not claim to have developed the technique myself, nor would I wish to. Additionally," he said, tipping his head and allowing himself the slightest hint of a smile, "I seem to recall you had no complaints at the time."

Nyota threw the book at him.

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This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/13/2009 as an addendum to _A Series of Educational Experiences._


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